


If for No One else, Live for Me

by Wolf_of_Lilacs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Parselmouth Lily, Time Travel, description of childbirth, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9234227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_of_Lilacs/pseuds/Wolf_of_Lilacs
Summary: "Would your mother have died for you?"Instead of dying at Voldemort's hand, Lily is thrown back to mid 1926, when Merope Gaunt, pregnant and alone, is trying to survive.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Am I seriously the first person to write this pairing? If so, I hope I've done it justice. All feedback is appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small plot hole fixed.

GODRIC'S HOLLOW, 31 OCTOBER 1981

Lily's last-minute barrier of boxes and a table trembled violently, not falling, not holding, almost as if Voldemort were toying with her. Wait, wait, she thought. One more minute ... And the barrier held. She whispered the last incantation, and the final drop of blood fell onto her painstakingly carved runes, which vanished, thus completing her ritual.

"Not Harry, not Harry!" Lily protested, as the barrier imploded and in strode Voldemort, wand held aloft, his hood thrown back to reveal a serpentine, bone-white face. The ritual she had performed, anticipating this exact moment, would save her child, but she had to plead. If by any chance Harry remembered this, she wanted him to know that her love for him was demanding and angry and shrill, that she would not go to her grave quietly.

"Stand aside, you silly girl!" The Dark Lord's robes whipped about him, his eyes gleaming scarlet. Severus had begged him to spare her, she guessed. Oh Severus, you know nothing. Voldemort could easily have batted her aside, but why should he, when he could just as easily kill her? Whether she lived or died did not affect his future, nor that of the baby he intended to slaughter. Severus's wishes would not change this monster's mind. The death of innocents was his life's foremost purpose. Right?

"Why are you here?" she asked on a whim. "What about my son terrifies you so?"

His glare intensified, yet he did not finish her off for her impertinence. Instead he considered her, lowering his wand slightly. "Fate is fickle. I must strike down every obstacle she places in my path, before it has a chance to grow."

"A baby is no obstacle," she snapped.

"It could be, years from now, once it has been trained and corrupted by my enemies."

"Kill me instead!" She spat these words, gazing into those unnatural eyes.

"You do not have to die, Miss Evans. My quarrel is not with you. You have such potential. Your death only wastes it."

"Since when did you care about a dirty Mudblood's potential? Fuck you!"

He contemplated her for one final, frozen moment. His mouth twisted, as if in some measure of true regret or disgust; Lily wasn't sure which. "So be it," he said at last, and raised his wand.

But just before he cast the curse, she noticed an even stranger expression cross his face. It was ... resentment. Startled, she whispered, "Would your mother have died for you?"

Months ago, she had stormed into Dumbledore's office, ordering him to tell her precisely who this man that wanted to murder her baby was. He declined, until she cursed his lemon drops to taste like green apple drops and refused to leave. He told her. He told her of the abused, lonely young woman and the handsome man that rode past her window. He told her of the unrequited love and the love potion. He told her of the young woman's abandonment and attempts to survive on the streets. And then he told her of the young woman's death in childbirth. The young woman's son ended up far more alone than she had been. The result stood before her.

Voldemort snarled, his resentment increasing at Lily's visible pity. "Be quiet, Mudblood. That does not concern you. Avada Kedavra!" She let out a last, desperate shriek as the green light rushed toward her. Harry did not make so much as a peep as she fell.

"Lily!"

Lily opened her eyes to find herself in a flat, white ... King's Cross? The floor was neither uncomfortable nor comfortable. The silence—the absolute lack of extraneous goings-on—was the strangest part of all.

"Lily!" She heard the voice again, and turned to search for its source. Her gaze landed upon Marlene McKinnon, standing with arms crossed next to one of the many pillars, her blond hair hanging wildly about her face.

"Marlene," Lily croaked. "If you're here, then I really am dead." The Death Eater attack that had killed Marlene and her entire family had left a destroyed house and bodies so desecrated that they were barely recognizable.

Marlene smiled slightly and shook her head. "Not quite," she mused. "You sacrificed yourself to save your child. I guess that means you get to choose ... what comes next."

Lily grimaced. "Choose? I'm betting none of those choices would be returning to the place I just left."

"That's right," Marlene confirmed. "Think more along the lines of, er, bigger picture choices."

"Right," Lily grumbled. "A mass-murdering egomaniac just butchered my husband and me, and has no doubt tried to kill my infant son. I'm expected to make 'big picture choices'?" She closed her eyes, her head flopping back onto the station floor. She'd lost everyone that was dear to her, fighting in a fruitless war she could have fled. What more should she be expected to do?

"It's a fairly simple choice," Marlene replied, looking sympathetic. She approached hesitantly, crouching nearby and taking Lily's hand. "Either you go on to death, in which case your son is raised by your sister in a world recovering from a brutal war, and of which he's expected to be the savior; or you go back in time and stop it all before it happens. Which'll it be?"

 _Would your mother have died for you?_ "Go back in time? To when?"

"Interested, huh?" Marlene appeared marginally triumphant. "What time do you want to go back to?"

"I ... I want to save Voldemort's mother. Maybe if she'd survived to raise him, he wouldn't have done ... what he's done."

"Wait," Marlene said, surprised. "You want to save Merope Gaunt, rather than to kill Tom Riddle?"

"I will not kill an innocent child," Lily retorted.

"Fine, fine," Marlene said, dropping Lily's hand and jumping to her feet. "1926 it is. I trust you, Lily. You can fix this."

"I shouldn't have to. Let's get this over with."

"All right. You should end up fairly close to Merope, so she'll be easy enough to find."

“Wait!” Lily interrupted, coming to an uncomfortable realization. “Can I take anything with me? Like clothes? Or a wand?” 

Marlene paused. “”Ah, that might be important,” she allowed. “Unfortunately, the power of your sacrifice stretches only so far. I think you could choose to take either your clothes or your wand, but not both.”

“Great,” Lily grumbled. “Really gives you perspective. Er, I’m choosing my clothing, because I’m not appearing naked in the middle of a public street.”

“Probably for the best,” Marlene laughed. “Good luck." Reality seemed to tilt backward. Lily slid through a whirlwind of indescribable sounds and inexplicable colors.

LONDON, 31 OCTOBER 1926

Lily landed painfully on cobblestones. Blearily looking about, she guessed she must be in Knockturn Alley. (She, the goody-two-shoes Muggle-Born, had bought potion ingredients at a dangerous but quaint little shop next to one of the creature pubs on several occasions.) The only difference between this Alley and the one she knew was the clientele. They moved about with their faces uncovered and their purchases prominently displayed, as though they had no reason to fear being recognized. The 1920s, she thought bitterly, where Grindelwald sympathizers were common, and Muggle-Borns were not. What are you gonna do?

A hunched, hooded figure exited a nearby shop, surreptitiously tucking a small purse into a pocket. Lily started as the figure passed. Could this be her quarry? She hurried after the retreating figure, catching up just before they reached the cross street into Diagon Alley.

The figure turned, letting her hood fall. It was indeed Merope Gaunt, her lank hair falling about her face, her outward-pointing eyes downcast, her rounded belly obscured by the baggy dress she wore. She watched warily as Lily approached.

"Er, good evening," Lily managed. "My name is Lily Evans, and I'm here to help."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Merope came to be in Knockturn Alley.

The day she stopped giving him the potion was the day her peaceful, guilt-ridden life went to hell.

He took the keys and the purse from the mantel with trembling hands and gazed at her in horror. "Get out!" he croaked. "Devil's spawn, get out! I’m going home, and you will not stay here.”

"But the baby!" she protested. "You won't stay for the baby?"

"It will be as unnatural as you, witch," he replied. "I hope it dies before it has a chance to pollute the world with its evil." He watched imperiously as she gathered her meager possession—some dresses she'd outgrown and the remains of her ill-advised love potion—and then dragged her roughly out the door. His grip was tight enough to bruise; the trembling of his hand caused her arm to shake.

"Tom, I love you," she pleaded. "Please, please don't leave!"

He threw her from him in disgust. She fell onto the stones of the path to the door, the impact shuddering through her sore lower back. The baby moved restlessly.

"Don't follow me," Tom said, glaring down at her where she lay sprawled helplessly. "Don't speak to me again. And don't expect me to do anything for your brat." He turned and ran, without looking back. In a detached sort of way, she noted the jerkiness of his stride. What had she done? Why would no one love her?

Every part of her ached as she stumbled awkwardly to her feet. The stones of the path cut into her palms as she pushed herself up.

Where could she go? She couldn't go home, for fear her father's sentence had concluded. She truly had no one but Tom (against his will, for he was never hers), and now he had left her. All that remained to her was an unborn babe—who kicked incessantly—that she doubted she could provide for.

Well, onward, she thought, and began to walk. Perhaps someone could use additional hired help... though who would hire her, when she was due in three months? No matter. Perhaps they would have pity on her, and take her in.

*

"Do you have a room?" Merope asked the old Muggle seamstress that came to the door at the second knock.

"Depends," the woman replied, eying her suspiciously. "Can you pay me... anything?"

"A couple pounds, and some dresses I received before I started to show." Merope gestured unnecessarily to her protruding stomach. "I could help around the house, too," she added uncertainly.

The woman smiled indulgently at this. "All right, dear. Come inside." She lifted the dresses from Merope's arms, leading her further into the house.

Enid, the seamstress, had a certain kindness Merope could not remember experiencing and therefore could not describe. She liked to think it was almost motherly, but she had no memories of her own mother to compare it to. The weeks with Enid were some of the best Merope had known.

Pity it couldn't last.

Merope ventured out one day in late October to inspect Enid's pumpkin patch. The patch was peaceful, the leaves on nearby trees charming in their browns and reds. Nothing seemed amiss with any of the pumpkins; the leaves were undisturbed by insects, and the pumpkins appeared healthy. Finished, Merope settled on a wooden bench under one of the trees, gently massaging her stomach as   
the baby kicked and rolled over.

:Damn mouse:, something hissed near her foot. A black adder poked its head out of the grass, its tail twitching peevishly.

:Hello, friend,: she murmured. :Isn't it rather cold to be about?:

:A Speaker!: the adder hissed in surprise. :Have you seen any other mice? The one I was hunting got away.:

:I'm afraid not,: she replied. :A cat lives around here, though. I'm sure she's found most of the available mice.:

:I hate cats,: the adder spat, rearing impressively. :Big fur balls throwing their weight around like they rule all Creation.:

Merope giggled. So absorbed was she in her conversation with the annoyed adder that she did not hear the door open and Enid striding onto the porch. "Merope dear, do you feel up to helping start dinner? I was thinking— Good Lord! What are you doing!?"

The snake slithered away, spooked by Enid's shouting. Merope gazed at her, terrified. "I— I was only watching that snake, ma'am."

"Oh no. You were hissing at it. What are you?"

"I'm— I'm just—" The memory of Tom's fear and anger made her hesitant to continue.

"Talking to serpents is a mark of evil, girl! I will not keep sheltering you." Enid grasped her arm and led her back across the yard, through the back door, and out the front. "Good luck, dear," she said, sounding shockingly rueful. "I wish I didn't have to toss you out like this, but evil has touched you. Here's enough to get you a cab back into London proper." With that, she pushed her out the door, and closed it with a snap.

The cab ride dragged out forever, the cigar-smoking driver not saying a word other than a grudging "where to?"

"Charing Cross Road," she decided, wishing she could go somewhere, anywhere other than back into the world of her childhood. She would sell her family's locket, she decided. It was the only object of value she owned.

Merope made her way down the main thoroughfare of Knockturn Alley, shabby shop fronts on either side; past a hag selling human fingernails ("One sickle gets you a hand's worth, darlings!") and a rich Pureblood scion lecturing a group of less finely dressed wizards ("Take some pride in yourselves! Your blood is pure; your purpose is clear!" "We have hardly any magic and no money to get out of this hellhole. Sod off!" "How dare you—“) Merope suppressed a laugh as she entered the dimly lit Borgin and Burke's, the locket heavy upon her breast.

"Good day, miss. Burke, at your service," the proprietor grumbled, glancing at her briefly as he arranged several ornately carved jade skulls on a shelf.

"Good day," she replied roughly. "I have something I need to sell."

"Oh? Some supposedly valuable heirloom, I expect." Abandoning his trinkets, Burke approached her, hand extended. "Well?"

Slowly, she lifted the locket from under her dress and allowed to hang. "Merlin's beard," he whispered. "That's— That's Slytherin's locket! It's been lost for centuries!" He gazed at it hungrily.

Merope's hand clenched about the chain. "How much will you give me for it?" She did not doubt he would pay far less than it was worth, but there weren't any better options. 

"Hand it over, and I can give you a better estimate," Burke said. He stretched his hand closer to her, tapping his foot impatiently. She sighed and passed it to him. Burke inspected her locket closely, tracing the emeralds making up the serpentine S, scraggly hair flopping over his forehead. "I'd say about five galleons," he mused, raising his eyes from his prize.

"Absolutely not," she snapped. "It's worth at least twenty."

"Ten, then, and that's my final offer." His lips pulled back in a sinister smirk, and Merope meekly accepted the price without any further argument.

"Pleasure doing business with you, m'dear," Burke called as Merope left his shop. She shivered in disgust and picked up her pace. Her father's face loomed in her mind's eye, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouted in apoplectic rage. "What have you done, girl! You've given away our birthright!" But the newly heavy coin purse in her hand assuaged any guilt. She needed money more than she needed a pretty locket, no matter to whom it had once belonged.

Merope walked heavily back to Diagon Alley, hunching against the wind. She heard fast-moving footsteps behind her, and turned to spot a woman close to her age, with long red hair and robes of a nicer cut than anything she'd ever owned. The woman came up to her, panting. "I'm Lily Evans, and I'm here to help."

What? To help ... her? "Why?" she asked, after an awkward silence.

"Because you need it. You can't survive your pregnancy on your own like this."

"And how would you know I'm alone?" Merope asked, attempting to suppress the wild hope that rose, unbidden.

"I can't really tell you everything," Lily replied. "But just know that I'm here for you, and I won't hurt you or turn you away."

What did she have left to lose? "All right. Do you have somewhere to stay? I intended to get a room for tonight at the Leaky Cauldron."

"I ended up here rather unexpectedly, and I've got almost nothing at the moment."

What did that matter? The ten galleons would last long enough for this strange woman to find work, surely. Who was she to turn away an altruistic fool? Lily had a pretty face. Someone was bound to hire her. "Fine, as long as you intend to find employment." She nodded. Smiling uncertainly, the two of them meandered into Diagon Alley.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait, but writing this chapter was like pulling teeth.

"Hello," Lily said to the Leaky Cauldron's somewhat familiar-looking barman.

"Good day. I'm Tom. What can I do for you?"

God, this was bizarre! Tom had thick, straw-colored hair. And a full set of teeth. He didn't appear much older than they were. "Right," Lily continued, shaking off her surprise. "We need a room for the night, and dinner and breakfast."

"That's included with the room. Comes to five sickles, if you please." The disturbingly young-looking Tom made change from the galleon Merope handed him, frowning at them thoughtfully. "You girls new to the area?"

"I'm from a town rather far from here," Merope replied, yawning widely and swaying on her feet.

"Sorry. She's due in a couple months, and we just need the room," Lily said, wishing fervently that Tom could count sickles faster.

"Merlin's beard! Congratulations!" Tom smiled at Merope, and handed her the change and Lily the key. "Room 5, then. Up the stairs and to the left."

"Thank you," Lily replied, supporting her exhausted companion across the hall and up the steep flight of stairs.

"One bed," Merope murmured, as Lily eased the door open.

"I see that," Lily said, gently helping her sit. "Do you need anything? Water? Tea?"

"I'm all right," said Merope, stretching out on her side and resting a hand over her stomach. "Just want to sleep." With that, her eyes closed and her breathing deepened.

_Wow_ , Lily thought. _Poor girl_. She examined Merope closely as she lay in repose. Even asleep, the expression on her plain, heavy-featured face was remote. Lank dirt-colored hair spilled out behind her across the pillow; Lily wondered idly what color it would be after a thorough wash, as she rose to place a second pillow behind Merope's back. The young woman's appearance didn't suggest she would birth a sociopathic murderer; then again, Lily mused, why should it?

The weariness she had ignored came on suddenly, and she curled up on the far side of the bed, wishing to be anywhere but here. Even if she saw her husband and son again, they could not know her as she now was; her future self would find the happiness she was certain to have given up. As sleep at last enshrouded her, Lily wished she had chosen to move on. If she ever saw Marlene again, that bitch would not hear the end of it...

They woke in the morning to a light knock at their door. "Breakfast will be served in half an hour," Tom called, then the sound of hurried footsteps signaled his departure. Lily groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she stretched deliciously. Merope's waking was far quieter, and she lay observing Lily with a halfhearted frown. "What time is it?" she asked. 

"Half past seven," Lily replied.

Merope rose from the bed with a speed that belied her tiredness. "After breakfast, what is your plan?" she asked, as she ran her fingers through her hair, not doing much to untangle it.

"I'll look for a job in Muggle London," Lily said. "No point in delaying. And I expect we can find a cheaper place to stay there, too."

Merope looked at her anxiously. "I was thrown out of the last place I stayed because my landlady/employer caught me talking to a snake."

:Oh dear,: Lily hissed. :Not your fault, though. It was only bad timing.:

Merope's mouth dropped open. "You speak it?" she whispered. "How? Are we kin?"

Lily shook her head. "I'm Muggle-Born," she began, then waited to gauge Merope's response. When no hostile reaction followed, she continued: "My guess is that one of my ancestors could speak, but birthed a Squib, and the ability went dormant for several generations. I mean, Slytherin wasn't the only Parselmouth alive..."

Merope sat silently for a moment, eyes hooded. Then she looked up at Lily with a smirk. "If my father and brother ever found out about you, they would no doubt proceed to vehemently deny your existence, and perhaps try to kill you."

Lily grimaced. "They do not sound like pleasant people."

"No. They really aren't."

*

Breakfast was uneventful, and light on conversation. Merope eyed Lily as they ate, this Mudblood Parselmouth that had appeared out of nowhere and expressed a desire to help her. Where could she have come from? Merope returned her gaze to her food, deciding to put off finding answers until they were properly settled.

"We should change some of your galleons into pounds," Lily said, as they finished their meal.

"Sounds fine," said Merope, "but I've never been to Gringots before. It's an intimidating place."

Lily tried to look reassuring. "Oh, it's not so bad. Unless you annoy a goblin; then it has the potential to be unpleasant."

When they reached the entrance into Diagon Alley, Merope glanced at Lily, and Lily glanced back.

"I haven't been able to do magic properly in weeks," Merope admitted, shamefaced.

"I don't have a wand," Lily added, equally shamefaced.

Merope extracted her own—short and careworn—from her pocket and held it out. "You'd better tap the bricks, then." Lily obliged.

The wind blew briskly as they walked toward the towering marble structure, the Alley's focal point. Merope had observed Gringots in awe from afar; she never dealt with enough money for a visit to be necessary.

The goblins behind the counter looked like they did in the few picture books her family possessed when she was growing up; pointy ears, swarthy faces, and wickedly intelligent eyes. If she hadn't been so anxious about her future, she may have enjoyed dealing with them. As it was, Lily did most of the talking, while Merope watched silently.

*

"Well now, that's convenient," Lily said several minutes later as they walked down a car and pedestrian-crowded Muggle street, gesturing delightedly at a HELP WANTED sign in a bakery window. "I'll go in and offer my services, shall I?"

"I was never much for fancy baking," Merope replied. "But if you are, have at them."

"All right." Lily strode inside, asked about the sign, and emerged ten minutes later with (week-long trial basis) full-time employment, beginning two days hence.

"Do you know of any available rooms or flats for two adults and a baby?" Lily asked her employer-to-be, and was given the address of a house with rooms to rent.

"This is cozy," Merope quipped, as Lily unlocked the door to their new residence with a heavy iron key. The flat contained a small common room for both cooking and social gatherings, with two small bedrooms and a water closet.

"I like it," Lily said, as she paced around the length of the front room. The sofa was raggedly upholstered, but appeared comfortable. They both settled onto it with sighs of relief.

"Home sweet home, yes?" Lily murmured.

"I hope so."

Lily's first day of work was long. Bending over repeatedly to retrieve loaves from the large ovens became steadily more tiring. Her hands ached from incessant kneading, and sweat beaded on her forehead in the kitchen's oppressive heat.

"These loaves are very well-formed," the big-bellied, jolly-looking man who owned the bakery said encouragingly, observing her as she rested her weight against the counter after putting in more newly-risen loaves in to bake.

"Thank you," Lily replied.

"Continue like this, and you'll be one of my best hires."

"I'll do what I can," Lily said, sounding as chipper as she could despite her weariness.

Coming home that first evening was surprisingly pleasant. Merope had prepared a simple meal for the two of them, after which they sat and attempted to carry on rather awkward conversation.

"How was work?" Merope asked.

"Fine. Exhausting, but fine."

Merope raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Nothing like when my sister and I baked together," Lily said, thinking wistfully of those days when she and Tuney could set aside disagreements and work while exchanging few words on an ostentatiously decorated cake or biscuits whose taste did not warrant their difficulty.

"I wish I had a sister," Merope said.

"My sister and I had a falling-out years ago. She was jealous that I was a witch, and she wasn't."

"Oh." Merope looked at her with a hint of sympathy. "My brother hated me after he found out I loved a Muggle. Maybe a sister would have been more understanding."

"Who’s to say," Lily remarked, lightly brushing Merope's hand. "I need to get to bed. So... goodnight."

Lily rose and turned to leave the room. She halted at a soft call.

"Wait!"

"What is it?" Lily asked.

"I— Thank you for doing this." Merope didn't make eye contact as she spoke, choosing instead to examine nervously twisting fingers.

Lily opened her mouth to respond, came up with nothing, and left the room—and Merope—in silence.

The weeks passed, during which a peaceable routine was established. Lily rose early and went to the bakery—where her employer continued to be impressed by her work, while Merope stayed home, making meals and cleaning when morning sickness and lethargy weren't too troubling. To Lily, the days passed slowly. Fall was cold that year, with frequent bouts of sleet and snow that left her shivering as she made her way home. Even after weeks, she still hadn't purchased a wand. Merope offered hers, but casting anything with it made Lily feel somewhat ill. And though warming charms seemed nice enough, magic was not necessary and a wand of her own cost more than they could currently afford.

Between the lack of a functional wand and the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, Lily spent her evenings curled up on her hard mattress, wishing to hear James's voice and to feel his arms around her, to hold her precious Harry and breathe in his sweet infant scent. And yet some evenings her companion made it possible to forget for brief moments those she had left behind.

There was, for example, the time they tested out various language not suitable for polite company in Parseltongue. ("Fucking bastards" sounded more like "mating abandoned hatchlings.")

Or that time they came up with all the worst qualities of the men they (still) loved. ("All those times James insulted my best friend." "Tom didn't have feelings for me.")

But the levity only distracted Lily from her bitterness, which came to a peak one night in early December.

"Lily, are you all right?" Merope called through the door. Lily choked on her sobs, her pillow soaked with tears. Everything was too much. This woman outside her door didn't deserve help. Why did Lily have to do anything? Why couldn't she have just lived her life the way she'd hoped to?

"Go away!"

Merope ignored this and opened the door, making her way laboriously across the room on somewhat swollen feet. She perched on the side of the bed. "I know you don't want to be here. You haven't exactly tried to hide it."

"I'm sorry." Lily rolled over to face the wall, thus turning her back on her unwanted visitor.

"Don't be. It isn't as if anyone has ever done anything like this for me before. I'm not sure what the proper response to what you're doing should be."

"I didn't have a choice," Lily whispered. "I want to go home. But you needed someone and—"

"Thank you," Merope said to halt Lily's apology, reaching out to her and embracing her. "I don't want you to leave."

Lily returned the embrace, burying her face against Merope's shoulder. "I won't leave you."

"Come and have a cup of tea," Merope said, helping Lily to her feet. "It won't change anything about this, but it might help you feel better."

Lily agreed, and allowed Merope to guide her with an arm about her waist to her usual seat at the scrubbed wooden table, and accepting the piping cup of tea placed before her.

The scent of the steam wafting from the mug reminding Lily vaguely of a rainy summer's night and leather-bound books, as well as the inexplicably alluring smell of Merope's hair. Too weary to comment, Lily listlessly stirred the tea. Merope watched shiftily as she raised the mug to her lips. As she drank, Lily looked up to see a face that had acquired an ethereal beauty. Oh god, she loved Merope Gaunt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything explodes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is definitely dubcon in this chapter. I didn't intend it, but here we are.

What had she done?

Lily wore an expression of deepest adoration, her face alight. "You're like a dream," she said, her voice hushed. "Beautiful. Fey."

Why had she given her the remainder of the potion? It would wear off within a few days—a week at most, and she didn't have enough time to brew more. Much could happen within a week. Life as she knew it could be upended... 

The last month and a half had passed indescribably. For the first time in her memory, Merope felt someone was her ally and friend. Despite this, Lily's unhappiness weighed on her. What if Lily left her, to return to the people she so clearly missed? Merope couldn't put into words what anxiety this invoked; the prospect of Lily's departure left her sick and shivering and heartbroken. (Like what she felt when contemplating losing Tom, but that couldn't be right''')

At the end of the week, Lily would leave her. For this week, however, Lily would be happy, no longer pining for her loved ones.

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, gently taking Merope's hand. "You're really tense, and your face is scrunched up."

"I'm fine," Merope assured her. "You?"

"Never better." Lily's smile was breath-taking. She buried a hand in the hair at Merope's nape, drawing her close. "Though there is one thing that could improve my day." And Lily kissed her, long and hard. At first, Merope didn't respond. Oh, how she wanted this, but did Lily? Without the potion, would Lily kiss her? Did it matter? When the potion wore off, Lily would leave, so perhaps she should enjoy this while it lasted.

Merope opened her mouth to Lily's ministrations. Their tongues danced; their hands fumbled feverishly with each other's clothes. Lily was rubbing a finger over Merope's clit before she could push her away.

She didn't push her away. Soon enough, Lily's tongue replaced her hand, and Merope shuddered in ecstasy. Sex with Tom was never quite like this... Merope moaned Lily's name. "That's it, darling, come for me," Lily encouraged, two fingers inside her, and oh, it was beyond anything...

They lay facing each other on the sofa, both panting in the afterglow. "That was amazing," Lily whispered fervently. "You are amazing, darling."

"No," Merope said brokenly. "No, this isn't what I wanted." But it was. Lily was everything she wanted.

"Did I do something wrong?" Lily asked, sounding concerned.

"No, it's not you. I—" Merope pushed herself off the sofa and staggered into the kitchen, finding the miniscule amount of antidote she'd brewed before Tom left her nestled behind the tea. Grasping it, she poured it into a new mug and added the remaining contents of the tepid teapot. "D-drink this," she pleaded, hurrying back to the sofa and holding the cup out to Lily. It shook in her hand.

Confused, Lily took the cup and drank it down in a couple gulps. "Cold tea is disgusting," she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.

Merope waited for the antidote to take effect, her breath coming in short gasps, her stomach roiling with guilt and self-loathing. One moment of perfect bliss was not worth losing Lily forever. But the die had been cast.

Lily's expression shifted. She blinked several times, as if trying to clear her vision. A hand ran through her hair. "How did I get from the table to here?" she asked. "And where is my underwear?"

"I— We—" Merlin, what should she say? "I gave you love potion, and then we had sex," Merope said, avoiding Lily's accusing eyes. "I'm sorry. I—"

"You did what!" Lily yelled. "You fucking raped me!"

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Merope babbled, not knowing what else to do.

Lily grabbed Merope's shoulders and pushed her back into the sofa, glaring dangerously. "I came back to save you. I don't think you were ever worth saving."

"But why?" Merope whispered. "Why did you ever want to save me?" 

Lily removed her hands and sat heavily beside her, breathing deeply. "It wasn't entirely because of you. I wanted your son to have a mother."

"But how did you know I needed help?"

Lily waited patiently for Merope to come up with an answer.

"You're from the future," Merope guessed. "But how?"

"I died, and was given a choice. I chose to come here."

"I still don't understand why."

"Because your baby killed my husband and was preparing to kill my son," Lily began.

"Oh, my child grows up to kill you, doesn't he?" Merope interrupted, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"He does."

Merope wanted to embrace Lily, to hold her and promise that everything would be okay. But she had no right, not after what she'd just done. Instead, she settled with asking, "What else will he grow up to do?" 

"Let's see," Lily mused. "He tried to fix problems he saw in the world, but in the attempt nearly destroyed it. He was a blood purist Dark Lord with boundless ambition, who cared for nothing but his own genocidal vision."

Merope knew she should be horrified by the mention of genocide, but the first question to come to mind was: "Why would he be a blood purist? His blood isn't pure."

Lily sighed. "It's... I can't tell you, mostly because I don't really know myself."

"But you were never here for me, were you?" Merope said, sadly. No one ever would be.

"I— I wanted to be. Well, mostly I just wanted to go on to the afterlife, but I couldn't let something I might have been able to change pass by. I'd do anything to save my child."

"So would I," Merope agreed, laying her hand against the bulge of her stomach, where the baby was curled up peaceably—for the moment, anyway.

"I can't stay here," Lily said, after the two of them sat in comfortable silence for some minutes.

"I know." The tears began to fall in earnest, and Merope clumsily dabbed at them with her sleeve.

"You didn't need to use the potion on me, Merope," Lily said quietly. "I was beginning to love you without it. Now—" She turned away. She picked up her bag and swiftly left the room, her hair swinging forward to cover her face. Merope heard a stack of coins set onto the table in Merope's bedroom, before Lily scurried past her once more and out the front door.

Two weeks passed. Lily did not return, not that Merope expected her to. But she still hoped. Every time one of her neighbors slammed a door or shouted something unintelligible, she went to the window to see if maybe— She hoped hardest when the long winter nights left her desolate and when the morning sickness returned with a vengeance and she couldn't keep more than tea and biscuits down.

New Year's Eve was cold—or rather, colder than the days leading up to it. Merope sat vigil by the window, her hands around a steaming cup of tea, watching as snow obscured everything outside into inscrutable whiteness. As the day progressed, the weather got worse. The snow fell more thickly still, muting ambient outdoor sounds. It was mid-afternoon when the labor pains began.

*

Merope could fend for herself, Lily thought. (She remained unconvinced.) Merope was a terrible person who deserved no one's help. (She still wasn't convinced.) Merope was unscrupulous and manipulative, and would only make the world worse if she lived. (Nope. Still not convinced.)

"Is everything all right, dear?" Enid asked in concern from across the scrubbed wooden table, as Lily dropped her fork.

Lily came here on a whim, despite, or perhaps because of the fact this woman had thrown Merope out. It had been a peaceful two weeks, with Lily working days at the bakery, then returning home to Enid's kindness and warmth. There were no snakes out in this cold to be caught conversing with, and Lily had no for magic anymore, not when it could be used for... what Merope had used it for.

"I abandoned a friend," Lily said into her food.

"Oh?" Enid frowned in concern. "Did you have a good reason for doing so?"

"She did something awful to me, but I know why she did it."

"That does not make whatever she did better," Enid said flatly.

"Yes, but she doesn't have anyone else, and she needs help. She could die..."

Enid looked troubled. "If what she did was unforgivable, then she does not deserve your help. Anyway, eat up. You haven't been looking well at all."

"I'm not hungry," Lily said apologetically, pushing her plate away and getting to her feet. "I need to go out."

"In this weather? Are you sure?"

"I have to find her, before it's too late." Lily put on her coat. "Do you know the address of a Wool's Orphanage? I think that might be where she's headed."

"I believe I do," Enid said, pushing her own chair back and striding over to a paper-filled hutch. "Yes, here we are." She copied the address onto a scrap of paper and handed it to Lily.

"Thank you, Enid, for everything," Lily said, opening the door.

"My pleasure, dear," Enid said, smiling. "I do hope you find your friend, even if she shouldn't be found."

*

Merope stumbled up the steps of the Muggle orphanage she'd seen a time or two on an afternoon walk, desperately banging on the door before she collapsed, her stomach rippling powerfully with contractions. The door was opened after what seemed like an age by a dark-haired young woman, whose expression morphed from curiosity to panic as she comprehended what lay upon the stoop.

"Martha!" she called, leaning down to lift Merope into a sitting position, "I need some help. This woman's about to deliver."

Two other women—a doctor and a midwife, Merope guessed—came to the door, throwing Merope's arms over their shoulders and guiding her across the hall. They lay her on a hard bed, with the female doctor on one side and a midwife on the other, the pinched-face matron who had answered the door hovering anxiously in the background.

"Breathe deeply, dear," the midwife cajoled. "And push"—Merope screamed—"and push some more—"

But something was wrong. Merope couldn't keep pushing. She was so tired... The white cotton sheets were steadily turning red with her blood. "I can't," she whimpered. "Please..."

"We're almost there, sweetheart," the midwife said. "Look, there's the head!"

Why should that matter? But she tried anyway, as the midwife and the doctor kept begging her.

"Her hips are too narrow," the doctor snapped. "I'm not sure she'll survive this."

If exhaustion and death were standing near the two women, stretching their arms out to her, then she would fall into them, and never surface. But once more... for the baby. Then she could rest... Lily would be free of her forever.

"That's it, sweetheart! You've done it! Look!" And the midwife gestured excitedly at a strange, red, wrinkled thing cradled in the doctor's hands. The thing started to squirm, letting out a lusty cry that even in her painful lethargy managed to shock her briefly into full wakefulness. Merope leaned forward to get a better look.

The baby's features resolved themselves into exactly how she imagined Tom must have looked when he was born. "Name him Tom, for his father," she said, "And Marvolo, for mine."

"And the last name?" the doctor asked, glaring at the matron until she left to retrieve a pen and paper.

"Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Merope fell back against the pillows, sapped of the last of her strength, Tom cradled against her chest, who was attempting to latch on to her breast. Rest at last, she thought, as he finally succeeded and began to suckle. But the door to the bedroom burst open with a loud bang. An apparition with gleaming red hair and hot, blazing eyes sped toward her. "Lily," Merope croaked.

"Live!" Lily said, setting Tom aside and grasping Merope's hands. "Live!" She then leaned forward and kissed her full on the mouth.

The midwife, the matron—who had returned from her errand appearing quite peeved, and the doctor exchanged looks. The doctor was the first to speak. "She won't die on my watch, no matter if she and this woman are cohabiting more closely than is natural."

The shock of Lily's kiss was enough to rouse Merope entirely. "Lily!" she cried. "You came back!" She pulled Lily into the tightest embrace she could in her weakened state, returning the kiss desperately. "Please don't leave again."

"No," Lily replied, gently pulling away and replacing Tom in her arms. "I won't, love. I'll always be here for you."

Merope wept as Tom—her precious, darling child—latched on to her breast once more. Lily sat in the chair closest to the bed, her right hand resting softly on Merope's shoulder, reaffirming her wondrous, living, vital presence. Whatever the future held, Merope knew, this moment was a beginning she had long assumed was out of reach. And unknowable and dark as the  
future may be, she thought, it's mere possibility was embodied in Lily—love for whom dwarfed what Merope felt for her erstwhile husband—and Tom Marvolo—who, she hoped, would redeem the names of those men who had betrayed her.

"Sleep now," Lily murmured, brushing her lips against Merope's sweaty forehead. "I will be here when you wake, and then we can go home."

Home. Yes, home, with Lily and Tom. And if for no one else, she would live for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I originally planned to write an epilogue occurring decades in the future, but it didn't seem to fit. I may yet write another one-shot in this universe, however. Stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Year's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, by (semi)popular demand, is more.

Lily watched as Merope slept, her stringy chestnut hair spread like a halo about her head, the tiny, dark-haired baby cradled at her breast. She'd lost weight during Lily's two-week absence, the bones of her face jutting out sharply. One of her hands rested near the baby's head, while the other stretched out across the pillow. Lily gently massaged it, and Merope smiled softly.

Despite everything, Lily thought to herself somewhat ruefully, she couldn't let Merope die. No matter what terrible, desperate things she'd done, she deserved to live. She didn't give Lily the love potion out of spite; rather she had done it because she doubted anyone would love her without one.

The matron of the orphanage offered them this small bedroom "for a couple days, until she's strong enough to leave and the baby's all right to go outside." Lily accepted graciously, despite the disgusted looks directed at them after the kiss. They needed the room, and it wasn't as if women who acted upon homosexual urges were prosecutable under the law (misogyny, in this case, was a blessing). So, well, she had little to fear, and they didn't want an unnecessary death on their consciences. That was something, at least.

The room was clean, though shabby. The thin drapes obscured the snow-filled window, through which a slight draft blew. A pile of blankets had been set up as a makeshift second bed, though Lily had yet to test it, having sat vigil next to Merope for several hours. She knew she needed to sleep—the itching in her eyes and the ache in her feet confirmed that—yet her mind would not rest. What if Merope died in the night, still too weak to pull through? And the memory of jumping from the cab to race up the orphanage's steps, throwing open the front door without ringing the bell, terrified she was too late... wouldn't let her rest.

The tightly swaddled baby gave a faint whimper, rolling away from Merope. Lily's eyes were drawn to it irresistibly. It looked so innocent now, with its tiny, cherubic face and chubby hands and sweetly scrunched-up nose. But looking at it, Lily couldn't help but remember… remember the crimson eyes glaring in rage as the Killing Curse flew… the sound of his cold voice, taunting her…

No. No, this was a newborn, who wanted nothing more than to be warm and to nurse and to be cooed at. Sighing, she gently eased it—him—back toward Merope. There was no resemblance between this baby and… him. To her chagrin, he looked far more like Harry had when he was born than anything else, especially Lord Voldemort. (Except Harry hadn't been so small''')

Oh, she was exhausted. Knowing she'd regret everything if she fell asleep in the hard wooden chair on which she sat, Lily dragged herself across the room and flopped onto the blankets, falling instantly into deep, dreamless slumber.

New Year's Day dawned dreary, the only sign of morning a morose gray glow through the snow-laden window. Lily stirred, her back stiff. Merope was sitting up in bed, propped up with pillows, Tom nursing peacefully.

"Good morning," she said, as Lily raised her head. Her words were hesitant, as though she feared Lily would bolt.

"Morning," Lily replied promptly. "You look much better today."

"I feel… better," Merope allowed. "You're here, and Tommy's alive, and I'm alive. I couldn't ask for more."

Her declaration was simplicity itself. Lily looked away.

"Have you met properly yet?" Merope asked after a few moments, nodding down at Tom, still content.

_Yes. I briefly contemplated fleeing because of him, out of debilitating fear._ But she didn't voice this thought. Instead, she said, "No. Will you introduce me?"

Merope patted the narrow space on the bed beside her, and Lily joined her. She passed Tom to Lily, who cradled him uncertainly, his head resting comfortably in the crook of her arm. "This is Tom Riddle, my darling babe." Merope's smile was radiant. "Tommy, this is Lily, your… just Lily, I suppose."

Lily nodded gravely. "He's beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," Merope said huskily, leaning over to plant a kiss on the corner of her mouth. Lily did not stiffen, as she at first wished. Instead, she returned the kiss, pushing misgivings aside. Those could be dealt with in time. But for now, she wanted this.

"Where did you go after you left?" Merope asked, ending the kiss and reclaiming Tom as he began to fuss.

"To the woman who threw you out on Halloween."

"Enid?" Merope said sadly. "Did she know who you were, or anything about us?"

"Not particularly, though she advised me against coming to find you last night."

"Then why did you?" Merope queried. "After what I did to you, why would you come back?"

"If you'd died and I could have done something, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself," Lily admitted.

"Because you need to save your future," Merope said bitterly. "It has nothing to do with me."

"Wrong," Lily said firmly. "You have a life ahead of you, and he needs you." Tommy sighed, as if in agreement. "And I… I have nowhere to go here, except back to you."

"But why—?"

"Hush," Lily hissed. "I'm not able to say that I love you, but I want to, one day. Please, give me that chance."

"I don't deserve it," Merope whispered. "I don't deserve you."

"Hardly anyone deserves the good they receive," Lily said fervently.

Oh, how Lily wished it were Harry laying here, Harry flying about on that horrible toy broom, Harry hissing his first Parseltongue words, Harry— And James, of course. She missed him too, obviously. But mostly Harry…

But Harry's future was ensured, now. He could be whatever he wished, not bound by some fool's prophecy. So, all of this—Merope, the love potion, baby Voldemort—was worth it. It had to be.

:I love you,: Merope hissed. :I love you, I love you.: Lily threw her arm across Merope's shoulders, drawing her close. Merope's head fell heavily onto her shoulder, and Lily lightly kissed her surprisingly pleasant-scented hair.

:I cherish you,: she hissed close to Merope's ear. "Is that enough?"

:You are enough,: Merope replied. "Yes," she added with a slight sob. :I need you.:

"I won't leave. I'll always be here," Lily promised.

But in the end, Lily thought sadly, she would live to save her son, while Merope would live for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so about that future one-shot I mentioned... If it's ever written, it will be on a whim, like this was.


End file.
